Impossible

It seems impossible, the variety of things we've done in the last four days. It seems impossible the amount we've accomplished in the last three weeks. It seems impossible that tomorrow, we begin our journey home. It even seems impossible that genocide occurred in this place, not quite 20 years ago.

But nothing is what it seems.

I wasn't planning to be overly "serious" with this post, but in light of recent events, I think you might find it an almagamation of many emotions--take from that what you will.
Alright. So Tuesday, most of the GAC team (meaning Alexa, Amanda, Anna and Emily) went to PEFA for their final day of cleaning and caretaking while the rest of us joined the City Hill team for our last day working at Rusororo, and let me tell you, I felt even more accomplished after that day than Friday. We moved 190 cinderblocks (one of which had a gecko inside), covered the ceiling/floor of half the building with them, cleared excess timber from between all the "walls" and around the perimeter of the building, moved a huge pile of bricks and went on two prayer walks around the whole site (in shifts, of course). So basically, an awesome and fulfilling day.

Wednesday was fairly exciting as far as touristy stuff goes, seeing as how we actually got to go on a safari (that's for you, Taylor) through Akagera National Park as the City Hill team's "fun day" (GAC's was Nyungwe National Park, if you recall). Started out fairly pedestrian (for Africa, anyway), with just some lakes and birds and lots of bushes and bumpy, windy roads (which unfortunately induced enough motion sickness to make half the ride rather uncomfortable), but finally we ran into some real wildlife--baboons, hippos, giraffes, zebras, a jillion antelope type things, warthogs, the whole shebang. Pretty darn cool, but when you're driving under the African sun on the equator in a cramped car for the majority of 15 hours, sucking in enough dust to coat your lungs, face and hair with five pounds of it, and you've been awake since 3:30 in the morning, you wonder if it's worth it.

But don't worry, I'd say it was.

Don't let me leave you under the impression that only the animals made the trip what it was, though--the people in our car entertained us at least as much. While we had some good laughs and enjoyed singing whatever Brittany could teach us, the best part was hearing everyone's testimonies of how/why they came to Rwanda. Sharing mine took enough words to bring back some of my monster allergies or whatever they are (me+lots of talking+lots of dust=cold-like symptoms, apparently), but I'm fairly confident that it was worth it, too, for everyone else to hear it. Plus I just got to know everyone better (both cars were mixed teams, by the way), which was awesome.

Also, I got to climb a tree :) Although doing it in Spanish gauchos/pantaloons was not ideal...

After a large and wonderful dinner at the guest house, some last-minute shopping at the nearby grocery-type shops, and a great night's sleep of about 8 1/2 hours, it was Thursday and the event I had been looking forward to for at least a week was finally here--sociotherapy. That might seem strange to some, as I'm sure I've never expressed any real interest in psychology or anything like that to anyone, but as far as my independent study project goes, I thought this would help me the most in really identifying with the people here. So needless to say, I was pretty pumped when I woke up this morning. Did a core workout with Kelly, ate some delicious French toast with peanut butter, honey and bananas, then got ready to go. Little did I know, we had a while to wait, and some interesting things were to happen in the interim.

We were scheduled to leave at about 9, but found out that our driver still had to fix the car from it's crunch on the way back from Rusororo, and ended up leaving at about 10:30 instead. In the meantime, however, as we sat around a table under the pavilion in front of the guest house (aka the infamous Phase 10 table), we chatted and sang bits of worship songs and even got Willy to teach us the chorus of "Our God is an Awesome God" in Kinyarwanda (which I will happily sing for you when I return to the States if you'd like). As I was sitting on the wall surrounding the area practicing this, I heard a sort of scuffling on the rocks and a serious "OH" and all of a sudden everyone was gathered at the opposite wall. I walked over and found Emily lying on the ground, for some reason asked, "She didn't throw up, did she?" (I guess to make sure she wasn't choking on anything while unconscious?) and after receiving a negative response started sort of pacing and words I didn't recognize--except for one, imana--were pouring out of my mouth. As soon as I would finish the phrase I would repeat it again like I absolutely couldn't stop, and I thought, 'this is real. This is more real than it's ever been.' In a matter of seconds, maybe as much as a minute, Emily was sitting upright, laughing, saying she was fine, felt "good," and then she was on her feet. I'm not saying it was me, but I can't deny the spirit of God. Sorry if you think that sounds cheesy or "preachy" or "too religious," but I've never felt so...affected, I guess, in such a good and powerful way.

Twenty minutes later, we were on our way to the sociotherapy group in Nyamata with as cramped cars as the day before. Fortunately, we only had to drive for about an hour (and only that long because we got a little lost on the village roads and had to turn around a couple times) before reaching our destination--a narrow, hidden footpath through some herb-smelling bushes on the side of the road. Everyone piled out, not really knowing what was going on, when some people who had been walking the same road greeted us and led us through the brush onto a peanut plantation (or whatever you call it). There were other crops too, and mostly they just showed us around, pointing at different plants and telling us what they were used for (through our translator from FVA), then we turned right around and walked back out, trekked own the road about 10 minutes or so, then spent the next 2 1/2 hours shelling peanuts.

Um, what?

In case you were wondering, Karen did mention that we would possibly be helping them harvest peanuts, but I don't think any of us were expecting to get blisters from shelling them (although I think that was just me who ended up with actual fluid-filled bubbles on my thumb and forefinger...). It was fun at first, but by the end I was ridiculously sweaty--for whatever reason--not to mention dirty, and my hands felt like they had been rubbed raw. Finally, though, it was time to talk. As the muzungus doing grunt work had attracted quite a crowd, we relocated to a spot under this enormous ubukuyo tree (which I climbed quite enthusiastically--wish I would've gone higher, but it made Karen nervous) and settled into the grass to hear them speak. We took a long time with introductions, and when we finally got to hear some stories, they said there wasn't enough time and I found myself disappointed. Weren't they going to tell us something that could really rattle our American cages of comfort and privilege?

(the best climbing tree EVER)

But I found that there was enough in their body language to show that they had been deeply scarred. Perhaps more amazing, however, was that upon learning that in this group of about 8 people, perpetrators sat so close to victims they were almost touching. And yet, it didn't seem strange or tense--there was just overwhelming forgiveness in the air...but also exhaustion. They all got along, worked for a living, had surviving relatives, but there is no doubt that their minds are beyond the sort of tired that every college student thinks describes them after finals.

And it didn't stop there. One of our own team members shared their testimony, filled with more horrors than I ever expected, and it was that which really struck me. Terrible things do happen all over the world, and all too often, no one sees them. It was then that I realized how alike people can be at essentially opposite ends of the globe, and maybe it is our suffering that brings us together--especially in Christ, as it was with these people.

It was on that note (or perhaps a slightly lighter one, in that everyone was smiling at having come together) that we piled back in the Land Cruisers and headed to the nearby Nyamata Parish Catholic Church Memorial. It was small compared to the other two we went to, but walking down into a 3'x15'x45' crypt full of bones and skulls you can touch is a little bit different than standing in the doorway to a room full of lime-encrusted skeletons. Not necessarily more powerful, but when you see them by the thousands, scattered over so much of one country...it makes me tired. It made me a little bit angry today. But I think it's just that, right when you think you've seen every side of a tragedy (if that's even a synonym for genocide), there's something else in front of your face.

In the next couple hours people generally had some to time to be in their own heads before we moved on to our next and final event of the night, the beginning of our goodbyes--dinner at the house of Karen's good friends and the heads of FVA who have been working with us throughout the month. The food was deliciously Rwandan (I am seriously going to miss some of the meals here), the company was great, and gifts were given all around. It was generally a happy time. But sitting in that beautiful, big house really made me--as well as several others--wonder at what I had seen earlier in the day. Could these really be two parts of the same tiny country the size of Maryland? It seems impossible.

Imana ishyimwe (God be praised).